Half of Me
by nefrofer13
Summary: Your love life is a little sensitive subject to you so when you admit you're seeing someone, "Is she hot?" is the first thing Quinn ask. Undoubtedly you shake your head, "No." TraumaSurgeon!Brittany.
1. Chapter 1

_Thursday, 14 March_

Day has been good before your good friend bring bad news and a stupid request.

You start your day everyday by jog around your apartment block. Your high metabolism doesn't allow you to sit still the entire morning. You wake up at 6 on the dot then you take your shoes, iPod and a couple bucks for coffee. You'll be home at 7.15 a.m. enough for you to prepare yourself for work. You strict with your schedule, blame it on your uptight army daddy.

That is your morning routine.

Today is a little bit different. You run about two rounds then stop by the park. You sit at the lakeside lean at a shades tree. There aren't many people at time like this. Apparently it is not common for normal people to be awake this early, well you give up normal long time ago. You bring your coffee and muffin with you to savor it alone. Soft music play through your ear. Chilly winds gently fondle your face as you close your eyes to enjoy your loneliness. You're fine though, it doesn't bother you, your loneliness you mean. You used to that. Or you pretend it.

As the time pass by, you glance your watch when it showed 7.43 a.m., you sigh, you fall asleep. You never lost in time even in your sleep, never. You gather your trash to put it in the garbage then you make your way home.

The only thing that maintains your sanity is rush. Yes you like silence for once in a while but it kill you when it gets too much. That is why you loved where you work. It gives you the rush that you need. It provides adrenaline to keep you excited to be alive.

"Blunt or sharp trauma is more dangerous? Mr. Flanagan." You point the British young man among the other hand raised.

"Blunt, I guess Dr. Pierce." He answers unsurely. He make some funny face like he wants to throw up. He's a brand new intern, below average if you might add. But as a teacher, important to you to make sure your student don't screw with people lives.

"Why is that?" You deadpan.

"Sharp! I mean sharp trauma is more dangerous because it can penetrate through organ." He says with more confident.

"How many types of trauma that we know? Ms. Pillsbury." When you shout her name she was shock. Clearly she doesn't show any interest at you. She was busy cleaning up her nails the entire lecture you give. You knew she suffer from OCD, at one side it's good consider you have to be sterile to prevent disease on the other it vexatious to make sure you clean all the time. Besides sometimes bacteria is good for your immune system.

"Ughh, it's um…"

"You might want to leave now. Catch up with your friend later." You cut her off. You have no time to reiterate, you only got little time to teach tons of material.

"Mr. Lincoln," you appointed at awfully gel haired guy who sat at the back. He was pretty serious during your lecture. You may act like you careless when you actually paying attention.

"Four doctor. They are blunt, sharp, burn and blast trauma."

"Do you agree with Mr. Flanagan?" You asked.

"No doctor. Blunt trauma is way more dangerous because it can hit skin, muscle, even organ or viscera. It cause closed hemorrhage. Sharp trauma, the tools can be use as tampon."

"What is the most frightening of burn trauma?" You challenge him.

"Inhalation injury doctor."

You proudly clap your hand. When you teach, you don't give all your knowledge to them. You offer hint, you trigger them, you want them to find it on their own first then you will explain what they don't understand. Sometimes if they lucky enough, you will share your experience.

"Now that is what I'm talking about. We're done for now, be here at 3 p.m. sharp. I do not tolerate late. We'll learn some initial emergency assessment for blunt and sharp trauma." You dismiss the class and you make your way to attending lounge. You pour some water to your cup as you took a big gulp. You always thirsty after you talk too much.

You took some medical magazine from bookcase as you make yourself comfy on the couch. You like reading, not much of magazine except if it's med, you hate gossips crap. You don't care what the hell happen with celebrities' lives. They all want one same thing: fame, then hating on press who write about them. You can never understand them. Every once in a while you read novels too, you don't have much time for it but you take a moment cause it's relaxing. You loved action stories, you could visualize you as the hero character even be the bad guy. You'd let yourself get involve by storyline, occasionally you compare with your own life.

You are not into love story. They bore you. You easily can guess how they begin, how they end with all the bubbling of sappy romance making you want to vomit. The point is; they're sucks.

You open the magazine as you see the content that captured your interest. Human genome mapping project definitely caught your eyes. There is a lot to love about med, one of many is the developing technology. It aims by this genome sequence you can predict what kind of disease you'll suffer so you can prevent it. As its said 'project', it wasn't finish yet, they're still work on it. It'd be great if it success, imagine how much lives can be save.

"Ugh, I swear that guy is here every week to get high!"

You lift your eyes towards voice source finding Quinn half naked only on her bra and pants grumbling. She throws her top vomited scrub to dirty laundry. You chuckle knowing exactly whom she was talking about. A certain homeless guy complains nausea and dizziness for these past months but by any chance couldn't find any abnormality on him, he just vomiting alcohol.

"You know what, maybe I should go to the chief to get him forbid come near hospital." The blonde groans in frustration. She take the clean scrubs put it on her quickly she almost falls down.

"What's with the rush Quinn?" You ask.

"It smells awfully bad, Britt. Want to smell it?"

"No thanks. Maybe he did have something in his body. You should run some test." You offer an advice.

"And waste hundreds of dollars for nothing? He's lucky enough I still give him physical examination. He just wanted to get high and sleep on comfortable bed. I want to kick his ass so bad right now!" the girl with hazel eyes nag whilst she make some black coffee. Typical stressed Quinn. She can't have alcohol at hospital so she has caffeine instead. "Want some?" she proffers it to you. You shake your head, you've had enough caffeine for one day.

"Whattcha reading, blondie?" She take a sip as she sit beside you.

"Genome mapping project. You think they're going to get it done?" You ask. As general surgeon plus nerdy at DNA thing, Quinn must has some opinion on it.

"Maybe" She shrugs nonchalantly. "In theory, it is possible. You just have to slice the chain, make sequence, identify what cell can possibly mutate. Problem is it'll cost at least I don't know millions billions bucks?"

"It sounds a lot complicated than you said."

"If I was end up being a pure scientist instead of doctor, I would never get out of my lab. DNA is amazing, they small you think you can beat them but wait until they angry, they coding the bad code and the mutation gene hiding behind the good one nothing could stop them then bam! Congratulation you got yourself a cancer. Why am I describing this to you? You know it yourself." She slaps your arm, Quinn was biochemists superb since high school. You chuckled slightly, she always excited talk about it and you have no heart to stop her.

"Don't you have surgery this afternoon? Why are you chilling out here?" Quinn ask you confused as she get up to get some food. Normally, you'd be with your patient and their family by now, mentally prepare them. Surgery is a scary thing, anything could happen in OR, half survived half give up by shock.

"I cancelled it. He's unstable, again." You answer. "Give me that apple." You point a bucket of fruit in open fridge. Quinn tosses it to you, which you catch skillfully.

"Mr. West?" You nod as you take a bite on your apple. "He wanted to die, let him." Quinn shrugs nonchalantly.

"You're sassy today."

"I stated fact. He had lung cancer, yet constantly smoke in hospital for god's sake!" She throws her hand in the air.

"He's just bored and old and lonely. Smoke is his friend." You state. Not that you agree with him. You just tried to understand his feeling. He's angry all the time, he only calm when he was smoking.

"Whatever. I gotta go, some of us have real work." Quinn teases you. "Hey, what are you doing tonight?" She stop by the door hand in its knob.

"Nothing. Why?"

"Dinner?"

"Sure. Thai?"

"Good for me. Your place." Then she's gone.

XXX

You glance the clock on the wall. Three minutes until 3.p.m., some of intern hadn't come yet. You walk towards door and lock it when the clock clangs. First rule being a surgeon is: on time. Even one second is worthy.

You start by asking question, as usual. In your mind, you picked your potential resident. You don't do favorite you simply evaluate them. Who's downright and who's dallied.

Skills lab is one of the program on internship and residency. As attending it is your job to train them. They fail, you fail. Someone's life is not something you can play with. They could be someone's father, mother, kid, sister, brother, best friend, lover, family. When your patient didn't make it, a lot of people hurt. Well, except if they're live alone.

You divide them into groups. A team is consisting of three people. They got different cases. Some blunt some sharp same steps: inspection, evaluate then treatment. First you give them example, then they do it on their own then you use clock to efficiency time.

Trauma surgeons deal with victims of accident and violence as they arrive at a hospital or clinic. They must act quickly to minimize the risk of death or permanent disability for their patients, always working under pressure. Therefor you wanted your intern to be ready in any moment.

"Flanagan, your patient is dying. Fix it!" You shout at the shaking boy. They aren't used to see blood scatter surrounding them. It was from mannequin still it scares them.

"She's pale, increased respiration rate, left movement on left chest. Where is the problem?" You ask Weston. "Breathing, Dr. Pierce." He answers. "What will you do? Time is ticking. You got four minute before you lose him. Think!"

You pretty much yelling, shouting and snapping at them. You're creating chaos atmosphere. You plan it. When trauma comes, there is never calm or silence. They need to get used to it.

At the end of the day, your interns are drain. They are dead tired. You satisfied enough from their teamwork. The more they practice, the better their performance. If you consider cruel by your colleague, you're okay with that if it's mean you have great soldiers.

XXX

On your way home, you stop by Thai restaurant to buy some take away food. You order Quinn's and your favorite. Quinn's place is one block closer to hospital, but you and her usually hang out at yours. You are off first before her. She has post op to do, might need an hour before she could end her shift.

You take out your keys from your pocket as you open up your apartment door. It was dark, you walk towards the light switch to turn it on. You sigh. This place is so empty. Little furniture furnished it. At time like this you wish you have someone to share. You have everything you could ask for; being certificate trauma surgeon, have place by your own, you don't have to worry about bills. Materially, you're well off. You weren't homeless or jobless you just lonely. Most of the time you okay with that, but being human you are, you need someone to lean on. Yes you have friends, but it is not enough, you need more.

At some point you believe someone has made for you. God wouldn't be so cruel to let you live your life alone, right? Maybe that someone thinks exactly like you are right now. Maybe if you lucky enough you'll find them tomorrow or next week or month or year.

Or never.

Deep down you know it's too good to be true.

You put the food on kitchen counter as you took some guava juice from fridge. There is no wine, beer or whatever alcohol brands in your house. You don't drink alcohol, you hate them. You like to be on control, you need to be in control. You had drunk a couple times when you were younger, the last one was the worse. You had hangover over three days with super angry bowel, it wont let you stop vomiting until you dehydration and was admitted to hospital. You were embarrassed. You never drink again ever since.

Thank God you already shower at hospital earlier. You throw your body getting comfy on the couch. You take TV remote control as you switch one program to another. You hate soap opera, you only watch for news. Lately the information merely about politics heats up in line with the presidential elections to be held a month away. You hate politics. All of that little brat behalf of citizen for their own interests.

On second thought, you hate a lot of things.

Whatever.

Your front door snap open produced Quinn. She storm in yelling about need to pee. You watch the scene dumbfound then you shrugged it off. It's Quinn, nothing to surprise about.

"Where is my food? I'm starving!" She shouts at you from toilet. You wonder how could you be friend with her. She was always noisy as horn whilst you quiet as night.

You get off from couch preparing the food. Quinn joins you not long after she disinfectant herself. She rambles about her surgery. How exited she was when her patient bleeding badly almost shock, she's weird like that. But you knew the feeling. It's the rush, the adrenalin playing through your body. You feel alive when that moment comes. It feels like your breath was worth it.

Half way finishing your food, there is knock on your door. You wonder who it could be. Quinn make no attempt to get it so you go open it yourself. You're surprise when Puck's figure standing on your doorway. It's been along time since he visit, not that he's out of town, he was just busy.

Busy banging any women he meets.

You invite him inside. You miss him so much. You and Quinn used to hanging out with him a lot. He's Quinn's former lover in high school, well they're more like cat and dog than a lover that's why they didn't work out. Third person wasn't the reason they broke up, it simply because they happy being friends, no hard feeling.

You three move to couch chatted animatedly on random things occasionally laugh out loud. You catch up the lost time. He tells you about his new business. It's not entirely new, he opens new club, the third one. Unlike you and Quinn, Puck isn't school material, being a badass cause him missed a lot of time to study. He isn't stupid not that smart either. He's okay.

When you moved out from Lima, Ohio, Quinn and you continued your study in pre med when Puck worked at a bar as waitress. He was screwed by drug for years, you lost contact when he was in jail. Then you and the certain blonde picked him, you support his life until he got back on his feet.

"What's the news, Britt? Anyone special?" He asks casually as he turns down the TV volume.

"Nope." Quinn answers for you. "She's a nun. No dating." She wave her hand nonchalantly. You chuckled. Not that you don't want to date. You just… well you.

"No sex partner?" He goes on.

"Oh, she has sex partner! His name is Mr. West, she had orgasm by the smoke he produce. I've seen her high twice in his room." Quinn sarcastically eye side you. You shake your hand pressing your laughter.

"Come on B! You're too good to be single!"

"Hey! I'm single too!"

Something's never change, Quinn and Puck barking each other.

"Shut up, Barbie!" Puck slaps Quinn's arm playfully after she bringing up Puck's dirty little secret; He slept with his crinkle old lady who own his first work place. "Britt, I have tidings for you. Listen to me until I finish, no cutting me off. Okay?" He says seriously. "No, Quinn you're not allowing to comment." He warns her just when Quinn's about to rise her hand.

"Do I need to worry?" You ask.

"No, now…" He clears his throat. "You know I love you, right? This is none of my business, I'm aware of that but your loneliness kind of making me sad and I had to do something about it, you know since you have no charm as I am and you too… how did I put this um… stiff? That is why, being a good friend I am, well… I kind of set you out on a date- blind date. Don't cut me! I know her, okay, it's not blind blind. She worked for me then she's off and we met again, I just thought she'd be good for you. Plus I never sleep with her. What do you think?"

"No." You reply shortly.

"No? As in no no?" He dumbfounds.

You shake your head trying to calm your nerve. You are tired you don't want any reason to build up your anger. How dare is he cross the line like that? You don't understand yourself for being so defensive about your love life. It's kind of taboo subject for you.

"I'm just trying to help."

"I don't need your help."

"Brit…" He pleads. You shake your head again, furiously.

"Come on…gi-"

"Noah, no." Your voice is stern. They know you well enough to push it more. Even Quinn only sit there and not move a centimeter sensing how tense the situation right now.

"What is it has to be so hard on you?! You act all strong when deep down you know you're hurting yourself. You want to grow old and die alone in this stinking place? Fine, go ahead. You know what, stop being so uptight all the time!" He yells at you. There is frustration in his voice, maybe he really does care about you. But your ego wont let your heart wins. Your pride is too big to give in.

"I think you should leave." You say, no emotion.

"Are you really kicking me out?" He asks unbelievably.

"You heard me, Noah. Now go." You point the door indicate him to bring his ass out. His face shows shock. You don't know what get into you act like this. Usually you're the one who storm out when you fight.

He get off from the couch slowly make his way out.

"Be at Breadstix on 7.p.m. this Saturday. Her name is Sant-"

"I don't care what's her name is. Just go!" You yell.

He looks at you, hurt. Then the door slams shut.

_Wednesday, 20 March_

"I got paged." You show your pager to the Mercedes Jones, black curly ER nurse. She holds her at you hand as she speaks to whomever on phone. She mumbling fast you couldn't quite catch what she was talking about. Something about car on fire.

"Burn trauma, 1 victims, eight minutes away." She says quickly. You nod your head as you put your scrubs and gloves on.

"Page plastic!" You order as you make your way outside to wait the ambulance.

"Morning, Dr. Pierce." Chang, your resident of the week professionally greets you. She's on her forth year and doesn't indicate even a little interest in trauma, you know she sneaks out to checked on neuro patient occasionally. If it wasn't hospital command to make sure all resident had rotation on each department, you sure as hell Dr. Lore would love some Tina Cohen Chang on his service.

You nod your head once acknowledged her existence. A few moments later the ambulance pulls over.

"Bryan Smith, 34, burns injury on chest abdomen and back, half of left hand and left femoral. Unconscious, HR 128x/ minutes, BP: 120/ 70. RR: 33x/minutes. " Paramedic giving you information as you led them to Trauma Room number 4, you begin inspect him and assess the degree and widespread injuries at the same time.

You order Tina to do bulectomy to examine the grade whilst the nurse to give put IV line on him fast. She informs you that it present red and wet hand, white and wet on femoral and blackish on chest. You notice him gasping and eschar circumferential his chest as his breathing quickly. You do the escharotomy carefully to prevent hinder ventilation.

"I need ETT, right now!" Tina shouts at whomever. You still concentrate on your work. This guy had it bad. You waste time he'll be gone by respiratory failure.

"What do you got?" A tall black haired old man busts in. He's from plastic, Dr. Meyer. You ask for plastic because you need them. This case is their major part. You only do the first aid.

"Grade IIA on hand, IIB femoral, III chest and back, about 54% TBSA. We're intubating now." You answer.

"Book an ER now!" He yells. "I'll handle it from now on." You nod as you step aside to make room. You finish your work here. The case is Meyer's now.

XXX

You wait patiently for elevator goes up. _Ding. _You walk through nurse station, throwing small smile at them who appreciate it by smile back. You were reading your brand new trauma journal in your office when the chief of surgery calls you to join the meeting with the board. You have no idea what's the important of your presence, you rarely deal with the board unless you ask endorsement for your department programs.

You knock the door slowly come in. Mr. Storkholmes, the chief of surgery gave you cue to sit beside him, you obey. He don't give you any relevant information, he just offers you small talk like how's your day going so far or how's the progress of new intern, which you proudly report they do really well. Even Flanagan actually tried to save his patient.

When you were kid, you dreamt to be a pilot, later that day you decide you're too afraid of height because you stumbled your ass down from roof. You're too active for your own good. Then you considered being a sailor, you back out followed by drown incident you experienced. Then you wanted to join military, which your mother completely opposed, you guess your father traumatized her. At the end of your senior high school you have a few acceptance letter. You haven't decided until your graduation day. You almost choose M.I.T., so close then you heard your father was injured in Afghanistan. His barrack was bombed, from fifteen; thirteen died on the spot, two seriously injured one of them lost his leg. It was your father, he loses his ability, pretty much turn out burden his family, according to him.

That's when you decide you wanted to be trauma surgeon.

Not much doctor want to specialize in trauma, after finished your surgical residency you must take one-two years of training, most of them took place in war to apply.

You were in Iraq for almost two years.

You want to be great, you aware the sacrifice must be done so you take the challenge.

Meeting isn't last more than thirty minutes. There is no significant incriminating that's what makes it fast. Everyone agree instantly, who wouldn't? You feel like you're on ninth clouds. You wondering what dream you dreamt of last night. It's like all your wish com true without you really asking.

"She doesn't have much experience. Besides, I don't think she's stable enough to have big job like this. We could use someone else." Tom Ruthford, one of the board who is also the only one that doesn't agree, trying to speak as hard as he can to intimidate you, half part of being on board, you got to make people bow at you, half from his hate towards you.

"Can we count on you, Dr. Pierce?" The headboard asks easily.

"Without a doubt sir." You answer confidentially. Tom's face turns red. You could tell he's beyond pissed. He glare dangerously at you, most of people would frighten by him. You aren't most people. You triumph smirk spread across your lips.

You're too high to get down.

_Monday, 25 March_

How's the way to describe that you are happy and bum at the same time? Happy simply cause you start your train program today and participant seemed so freaking extract you had to lengthen the time to satisfied their desire to learn. Bum because you're now freezing walk on roadside in rain when you just done your seven hours of complicated surgery. Bad idea the decision left your car this morning only because you don't feel to drive.

Not much public places are open late night like now except club or bar or some creepy diner. You won't risk your ear for some boisterous music moreover your life to get near drunken people. You keep walking then a coffee shop with the sign "open" comes through your eyesight. Happily, you trot in. In an instant you doubt it was really open. You're hugging yourself awkwardly by the door. The light was still on only chair was already arranged neatly on the table. No one is there. For a second you consider to leave but Mother Nature doesn't let you. The rain gets heavier it's not possible to get home without getting soak. Not that you aren't already did. So you wait. Who knows someone will come and kind enough to let you stay for a while.

God answers your prayer.

"Um, we're closing" A girl appears. Without a second thought you would say she's pretty.

"I'm sorry, may I maybe wait here for a while? It's like storm out there." Your voice a little pleads.

She's contemplates. "Yeah, it's getting bad. You could sit, just pull down one of those." She points at the chair. You nod gratefully as you lower the brown rattan chair. You rub your hands to get some heat. You glance at the counter find the girl earlier isn't there anymore.

Then you heard footsteps approaching.

She presents a cup of tea and genuinely smiles in front of you. She doesn't make one for her. Then she lowers a chair for her too. She tilted her head as she smile softly and nod at you, permit you to take a sip of the hot liquid. So you do. The taste is great. It isn't scalding; it's warm and sweet the vapor warms your nose. It's perfect.

You haven't say anything to her you only offer small smile here and there. You don't mean to be rude, you just didn't know what to say. She doesn't seem bother by it. She looks tired but at the same time you could tell she doesn't mind accompany you.

Honestly, you'll be grateful if you could sleep right now. You have work tomorrow, well technically today and you haven't sleep for the past twenty-six hours.

You rub your neck tiredly.

"Long day?" She asks.

"The longest, maybe." You answer her, unconsciously smiling. Her voice makes you to smile. You don't even feel weird. You _should_ feel weird.

Then silence again. You had trouble talking to stranger unless it's professional. And you pretty sure she isn't physically suffering right now. You're an introvert. You don't have random stuff to discuss with her. You're not Quinn who can come up with anything she saw immediately turn into some interesting conversation.

Maybe she's like you. Maybe she doesn't have anything to say too.

"Where were you? It's late." She asks.

Maybe not.

She doesn't give any hint for you to leave. But you being you, you felt like you bother her for staying.

"I was from work. I'm sorry I'm keeping you here. I just leave now." You stand abruptly, she stopping you right away. She grasps your wrist briefly leaving tingling behind. You wonder what it could be, the tingling. You never felt that before.

"Wait a little longer. It's not safe. I don't mind." She gives you the smile again. The sincere genuinely smile making your heart beat beats a little bit faster. You find your head nod at her.

"Thanks." You mumble.

For some odd reason you don't feel _that_ cold anymore. You feel warmer. It's not possible temperature get any higher even for half degree. Maybe it's because of the tea, yeah it must be.

"Um, don't you want to go home?" You ask. She did say she doesn't mind but you know she's being polite, you want to make sure.

"This is home." She shrugs her shoulder easily.

"You own this place?" You sound a little surprise. You mean she looks young, maybe at her 25 or 26 to have a pretty good shop like this. You pass this coffee shop everyday but you never come here before. No special reason, the one you always buy your coffee is more near to your apartment.

"Oh I wish. I work here. The owner's nice enough to let me bunk in." You could catch the sadness in her voice even she clearly tries to hide them in her light tone.

It breaks your heart actually. It makes you want to comfort her. By hug her, maybe? No, you cannot do that.

You don't push the issue ahead. You don't want to pry on her. You'd love to know more but you don't know each other. You don't want her to freak out by being too forward. She's kind enough by letting you stay the least you could do is respect her privacy.

The rain didn't indicate to stop anytime soon. You're getting uncomfortable by your soaked cloth. You remove your leather jacket leaving a white t-shirt cover up your body.

You see her chair shove as she gets up. You follow her movement then she stop. You lock your eyes at her. She asks your name which you answer bashfully. You feel like a teenager. Why on earth you shy when some random stranger asking your name? People ask your name everyday, you answer them confidently. You tilt your head when you saw her expression change to gloomy at the mention of your name. It was brief you don't even have a chance to asks hers before she excused herself.

It make your stomach drop when somber expression across her face. You feel like crap. What is wrong with your name?

Your message ringtone rings through your jeans. You open your phone as you sigh heavily.

"Here, wear this." You look up to your shoulder to see a hoodie attach to it. She smiles warmly at you. You have to admit you forget how to breathe properly. She doesn't say much but what she did to you was totally leaving you speechless even though you don't talk much either, but still.

She sits again across you. You want to say thanks but it didn't seem sufficient. You find it hard to formulate words. How dare your brain stop working at urgent situation like this? You open your mouth only to close it again. She chuckles at your action, you feel stupid. She must thinks you're foolish ignorant person. You lower your head shamefully, you pretty sure your face is red by now.

Your phone ring again. This time someone is calling. You throw apologize look to her as you answer your phone. Actually you're not really listening, you only catch the last part where the caller say you need to be at hospital quick due some stupid accident road racing. Teenager and their big stupid ego.

You sigh subtly. "I have to go." You _don't want_ to go. You want to stay here in warm and safe place with her. She nods her head understandingly. You get up from your chair as she does what you did. You're about to take her hoodie off when she stops you.

"This one is wet," she points your jacket "Use mine." You hardly obey to anybody. But the way she said it, it difficult to not sense the care from it. It is hard for you not to do as she says.

You find you nod your head surrender to her wish. You take your jacket from the table again she stops you. "Let me dry it." She offers.

You shake your head swiftly. "You don't have to." You say.

"I insist."

Like you can decline her before.

You put your hand on the doorknob as you turn at her for one more last look.

"Thank you." You say softly but loud enough for her to hear. She pulls up her lips into toothily smile at you. It could do more than thousand words to you. Your heart flatter, you beat the urge to stay, to call hospital back making any excuse to abandon your patient.

"What is your name?" You ask. You need to know, you already waste much time to find out the most essential part of a person.

"Santana. My name is Santana Lopez."

Well, it suits her.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N : Thank you all for review, favorite and following this story. Here's another chapter and big thanks to Leilamiranda for making this story more readable. You are awesome!

I'd appreciate if you leave some review into this chapter, you know some advice or plot you wanted to see.

Without further ado. Enjoy guys!

_Monday, March 25_

Blindly, you try to localize where the hell your phone is. You ignore the buzz at first but whoever is calling you seems pretty persistent until you pick up. Sharp light radiates to your eyes making you slam your eyes shut immediately. You try to stay conscious even though your body is screaming bloody mercy from exhaustion. Your body feels numb. You take a deep breath, hoping you'd feel better. But you don't lack oxygen, you lack of sleep so it doesn't really solve your problem.

You take a moment to gain some residual energy. You're certain your glucose level is now way below and far from normal. Your brain, let alone your muscles, probably no longer have enough sustenance in them. You rub your temple tiredly before you decide to look at your shiny, sparkling screen, you swear the light from your phone is a flame. It blinds you.

There are four missed calls from Quinn and seven text messages, pretty much demanding where the hell you were because apparently, she had something important to say. Knowing Quinn for so long, you can tell either she wanted to go shopping with you (you never say yes, she never learns) or she'll ask for your advice on random things. The last text was from Dr. Storkholmes who wanted to see you as soon as you can.

You wash your face quickly right after you saw the reflection of your appearance. Your eyes look like a raccoon's. You could say ghosts may look prettier and less scary than you right now. When you deem yourself presentable enough, you take your lab coat with you as you stabilize your body movements, making your way out of the on-call room.

You knock softly but loud enough at Mr. Storkholmes's door. As you hear him shout "Come in!", you open the door, marching your way to his office. He is sitting on his chair reading… Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban? Is he for real? He's like the busiest person you've ever met—and not to mention, old. You don't know which you should believe more: your eyes or your brain. Both of them seem useless right now.

"Good morning, Dr. Pierce! Ah, I've been waiting for you. Please, have a seat." He might be old, but he's not some snobbish prick. He actually earns respect from people, not make them to. You honestly like the guy.

"What can I do for you, sir?" you ask as you sit on his comfy couch. He gets up from his chair and offers you a drink which you politely decline. He insists. He makes his way towards you, putting a glass of water in front of you before sitting across you, separated by a glass coffee table. He crosses his leg while taking a sip from his cup.

"How was your day?" he asks. He always opens a conversation with a light topic. You think it's probably because he doesn't like people to feel intimidated by him.

"It was okay, sir. How about yours?" you return the question to be polite.

"Well, I was catching up, reading some novels. I'm taking my time unwinding. It's not good being in constant pressure." He chuckles lightly. "How's your training program? Any interesting stories you like to share?" He asks curiously.

"Everything's going very well, sir. They are all excited and receptive. I'm so grateful you entrusted me to do this. I cannot thank you enough. I won't disappoint you, I promise." You say earnestly. You're still young and there are plenty of surgeons to run the program for him, yet he chose you.

He smiles softly at you, "Of course." You can see the pride in it. You knew your hard work would pay-off eventually. "Pierce, you look tired." He frowns a little, a bit concerned, you guess. "You have bags around your eyes."

"I'm fine, sir. Hospital has been busy lately. But I'm fine, really." You try to convince yourself rather than him to make sure he believes you. It's a psychology-thing.

"I think you should take some time off. I know you're barely home this week."

"But sir, I-"

"And I know you haven't seen Dr. Marin since three weeks ago," he cuts you off. You're taken aback by the sudden change of topic. His look at you is stern.

"I've been fine, sir…"

"We shouldn't risk it, should we?" He says like it was a fact.

"I'm doing really well. I don't think I should go see her for no reason," you deadpan. You couldn't believe he would bring this up. You're not stupid to sit around in some useless therapy and waste your time.

"She wants you to see her for at least six months. Look Brittany…" He only uses first name basis for serious heart-to-heart kinds of conversations. "I'm not an expert in cases like this. But I trust she knows what you need. She knows what she's doing. You know I don't pick favourites but if I must, I would never hesitate to choose you. I don't want Tom getting in your way anymore so just do what the board wants. You are a great addition to this hospital and our community. And I'm not going to take risks in losing you. I saw you hanging around in this place and that is not healthy. You need to go home," he finishes his mini-lecture.

He looks worriedly at you. He's a caring man, you know it. But this second, it just kind of irritates you.

You don't think he's prying on your miserable personal life, he couldn't be. You have no one to come home to. You have no one waiting for you at your house. This hospital is your home. Where else would you rather be?

"With all due respect sir, I don't want to see her anymore. I'm recovering. I have no issue in these past weeks. I'm okay," you say confidently.

He gets up from the couch and walks to his chair. He puts his glasses on as he opens his book again. You sit dumbfounded. Is he going to ignore you or what? What are you supposed to do now? Do you get up and leave? Or wait until he kicks you out?

"Go home, Dr. Pierce. I don't want to see you anymore today. You'll get suspended if you dare show your nose to my face. Go home." The playful smirk on his lips contradicted the tone of what he just said. He's not angry with you. But he wants you away from the hospital for whatever reason. You know him well enough to understand his intentions.

XXX

You're done showering about ten minutes ago in the attending bathroom. But you still feel gross. You couldn't wait to scrub out the remaining grease and grime till you get home—get to your house. You wear the very same clothes from yesterday minus your leather jacket replaced by Santana's blue hoodie.

_Santana._

She smells really good, you say to yourself.

You probably look like a crazy creeper smelling her clothes like now. You couldn't care less. Nobody's here anyway. You can do what you like.

"I texted you like a hundred times and not a single reply!" Quinn scolds at you with her hands on her hips. You immediately stop your recent creep endeavour as you look disapprovingly at her for disturbing your bubble.

"I was with Storkholmes. What do you want?" you ask nonchalantly. You didn't mean to snap at her like that. You just couldn't help it.

"I need your advice. Urgent," she says quickly. She leads you to the couch as she starts her rambling. "I have a date tonight and I don't know what to wear or what to do. I asked her out a week ago, but I totally forgot. Then she texted me asking if we're still on and I have nothing prepared and now I'm panicking. You gotta help me out!" Her voice gets higher than usual. She walks back and forth anxiously.

"Me, of all people, you wanted to ask for dating advice?" You frown as you point at your chest. "Are you trying to mock me or what?" You never felt so offended.

Her eyes are impossibly wide with her mouth hanging open. She shakes her head unbelievingly at your reaction. "Are you seriously acting out on me right now? How could you possibly accuse me of mocking your love life? You're my best friend, Brittany! I need your help but this is what you're giving me? Stop being so insensitive! Not everything is about you, missy! I'd appreciate it if you think about me too, once in a while." Quinn spills out like she was harbouring this for a long time.

You put on Santana's hoodie. It's so comfy and fits you perfectly. You look good in it. You don't give Quinn another glance when you walk towards the door. "'Alone' people don't like hearing about the 'together' people even if it's their choice to be alone." You speak quietly, not caring if she heard it or not. Then you're out of the room.

Quinn, technically, is not dating anyone. She's alone too but unlike you, she's willing to try. You acted selfishly, you realize but you're too stubborn to do anything about it. She has always been there when you needed her the most. Why can't you do the same for her?

You're a jerk, that's why.

XXX

You were planning on taking a cab in order to get home sooner, until you remember a certain coffee shop with a beautiful Latina who owns the clothes you are wearing. The taxi is already in front of you as you pay him five dollars for nothing. You feel bad, the least you can do is give him some money for his trouble.

Your footsteps move lightly. You're nervous though, you can't put your finger on what your nerves was about. You just are. You met her less than twenty-four hours ago but you're still excited to see her again so soon.

When did you become this weirdo? Who did this to you? As much as you want to deny it, you know what the answer is. Last night and her.

The coffee shop isn't that crowded. You open the door as it chimes a bell when a high-pitch, screeching voice welcomes you in. You cringe at the sound. Apparently, a brunette girl with all-shiny teeth displaying on her face owns that… noise. You can't back out now, you have no choice but to order something because she is already squawking, asking what you will be having.

You sigh. When you think things couldn't get any worse, it does.

"Um, I'll have a vanilla latte and uh, a sandwich," you say.

"Right away!" She cheerfully goes about the shop, making your coffee and taking a sandwich from the display then serving them to you. You wonder if she's always this… agile. You pay for your food and make your way to find a table.

When the small brunette is busy with the other patrons, you are able to sneak-a-peek into the kitchen to see if Santana is working there instead.

She isn't.

You want to ask the midget on the counter but you reconsider. You don't want to act like a stalker—or at least, let other people in on your stalkerish behaviour you seem to acquire overnight. For all you know, Santana might be out, considering its lunchtime. So you sit alone, facing the window, training your eyes on the streets, wishfully thinking she would show up anytime soon.

You take a big bite off your sandwich and sip your coffee. Their product is pretty tasty or you're just that hungry, you don't really care either way.

You're about to take another sip from your cup when a hand grasps your wrist, effectively stopping you. Your first instinct is to deliver a mighty blow to the skull to whoever laid a hand on you. Then the person who is the very reason you came here in the first place sits across you. No, you don't want to blow up her pretty skull so instead you just sit, grinning like an idiot.

"You shouldn't drink coffee. Drink this." She puts a bottle of mineral water on the table in front of you. "You already look like a zombie," she mocks you.

You frown thinking how you missed seeing her earlier when your eyes seem pretty set on finding her.

"I haven't had one today," you shrug. "How did you know I'm here?"

"I saw you from upstairs," she says. "You can't see me but I _can_ definitely see you." she informs you, triumphantly, almost haughtily. Your heart drops to the ground. Does that mean she saw the odd way you were acting earlier? From the grin tugging up her full lips, she surely caught you. You lower your head, trying to hide your embarrassment. She's like this magnet that sucks up all your confidence. You're a goddamn, respectable doctor, for godsake, not a scrawny teenager.

She laughs out loud, causing you to look up.

Her head is tipped back, her shoulders rising and falling, a hint of colour on her cheeks from the exertion as she continues to laugh. She looks so cute.

Wait, what? No, you did not just think that.

You clear your throat, composing yourself together. "What's so funny?" You frown. Actually, you're imagining all things that had pissed you off (like how Flanagan never once saved his patient, though he tried but never succeeded) to suppress the urge to laugh with her.

"You." She replies simply, still laughing her heart out.

"What?"

"You're funny," she says. Her hands are on her stomach. You don't actually get it. How could she say you were funny when you didn't do anything funny at all?

"Is that sarcasm?" The only person who ever told you you're funny is Quinn. But she never meant it in a Ha-ha-that's-silly way but more in the rolling-my-eyes-looking-at-you way.

"Nope. Okay, okay. I'll stop." She wipes a few tears from her laughing sprint as she presses her lips tightly to control her laugh. "Aww, stop pouting, Britt-Britt. I was just messing around." You're tensing all of a sudden from the nickname she gives you. Being professional and serious your whole life, you never did nicknames, or pet names or whatever name that is not Brittany or Pierce. Except with Quinn and Puck, but they don't count. Also, she said you were pouting.

You do _not _pout.

You erase whatever expression is on your face and opt for no expression at all. Fail. You crack a smile. You find more and more that you could never resist her.

As time goes by (not _that_ long, much to your displeasure), you get to know her a little better. It's hard for you to recall when was the last time you smiled that big that it reached your eyes and when you smiled that much, your untrained jaws hurt too much from the not so usual action. You can't deny your heart and body feel warmer even though the weather outside is cloudy and a little bit windy, and that the feeling has nothing to do with the clothes you're wearing.

"Hey, don't get me wrong but I think you should go home. Get some sleep," she smiles at you tenderly, reminding you in all your forgetfulness. It's just that you never felt so at peace with anyone's presence. Occasionally, you had let your heavy eyes close for a while, her voice, a lullaby you can't stop yourself from getting carried away with.

You do need to sleep before your body decides to take over your consciousness.

As you reach your apartment, you change into your pyjamas. You can't sleep naked, you can't sleep with a tank top or pants. Pyjamas are a must. You pull your blankets up over your head as you dive into your slumber, a lingering smile on your face.

_Tuesday, April 2_

You walk with heavy steps heading to the same department you never wanted to go in the first place. You've been there quite often but still, you didn't like it. You feel more anxious whenever you're in her room. It's not the room that was the problem. The place is neat with soft colours and some pretty accessories and furniture. It's designed specifically so that people would feel comfortable.

It's just you. You are the problem.

You didn't like the idea of a stranger bombarding your personal life. They didn't need to know how you feel or how things are affecting you. You can cope with your own issue. They're _yours_. People need to learn to mind their own business, really.

Except Santana.

You've had lunch with her these past seven days. And it makes you feel like you have something to look forward to. She talked about everything and nothing yet you still listened, amused. She's like Quinn minus the annoying part. You're pretty much a listener. But slowly you did start opening up to her. At first, it was hard for you when she asked about your day. You weren't use to that kind of question without the answer being "it's fine." But the way she told you about hers in detail made you want to do the same.

Her shining eyes radiate her interest and curiosity whenever you start your story. She would ask or comment on random things that makes you snicker with her wit. She suddenly makes it easier for you to go through the day with more spirit, as you remember the details of every encounter you had, wanting to collect as many stories you can so you could to tell them to her later.

You start to notice little things around you, like how the snack machine had to be punched at least three times before it produces your order because it was way too old to serve, it needs to retire. Or how Mrs. Swan sways her almost fractured hips with her headphones over her ears when she's mopping the floors. She brings out your humorous side. It's fun, and makes you a little less uptight.

She told you about Rachel, The Noisy Freaking Cockblocker Dwarf who's apparently the daughter of 'The Berry Coffee Shop" owners. According to Santana, Rachel is kind enough to help her considering she's an Off Broadway actress who has a very busy schedule. It doesn't look like it though to you when she constantly shows up at the shop every damn afternoon.

And now, Santana makes your meeting with Dr. Marin sucks even more. You can't do lunch with her because of it. It means you're not going to see her today.

You sigh deeply as you're standing in front of her office. You consider walking out even before you walk in but Mr. Storkholmes's words echo through your mind. _They're keeping an eye on you, just do it, sit still, say nothing, only forty-five minutes then it's over._ You whisper it to motivate yourself.

You barely knock, hoping she's not standing at the back of this door. It could be your reason to not meet her today. Your hope vanishes as soon as you hear 'come in'.

As you enter the room, Dr. Marin wears a surprised expression as she takes off her glasses to take a better look at you. You guess her glasses are just pure accessory, or they're probably reading glasses like Dr. Storkholmes'. You didn't make any appointment with her, previously. She made your schedule long ago and today is one of those days.

You sit on her couch without being told. You cross your leg with your arms folded across your chest, nonchalance written on your face, the same posture you give her in every session. Once, you read on a book, it's a defensive gesture to build up your wall, blocking the other person from entering your space.

"I haven't seen you lately." She gets up from her worktable as she approaches you. "How are you?" She sits straight across from you and tilts her head to the side, curiosity evident in her face.

"Good," you answer shortly. You don't want to hear her questions, you don't want her to speak, you don't want her to prod you like you're sick. You want her to shut up or even better, let you go.

"How's work? A little birdie told me you guys have a rare case? It must be exciting!" You roll your eyes subtly. If she's trying to smooth-talk you into opening up to her, she's miserably failing.

_Sit still, say nothing,_ you repeat it over and over like a mantra. You only nod, shake your head, a little shrug here and there. You're impressed how people like her have enormous patience. If you were her, you'll be repelled with someone like you since long. It's not that you're a short-tempered kind of person. You can stand three hours straight during surgeries at the very least (it needs a lot of endurance)—given you do your work on unconscious patients and they can't complain. You can handle pressure and your patient's or their family's behaviour (well, you do raise your voice a little if they're out of line. You mean, you're trying to help them but sometimes they can be too stubborn to deal with).

Forty-five minutes feel like a whole torturous day, but there's still twelve minutes left. You narrow your eyes, staring at the clock willing it to move faster. Too bad you couldn't threaten it. You shift your gaze to the wide glass that has a nice view of the city below. The Psychiatry Department is in another side of the hospital building. It has the most beautiful view of the city compared to other departments. It's cloudy outside, briefly you can see your reflection, your high ponytail seems somewhat tangled.

"You do not frown as much as you used to." Your lips tug up, forming your winning smile. "You look happy," she continues. "Is there any particular reason?"

_Yes_.

"No. But then again, that's none of your business."

"Are you still taking your medicine?"

_Ding_. Your session is over. You stand up, straighten up your scrubs as you make your way out.

No. You don't need them anymore.

XXX

You hang your key and take off your sneakers. You didn't bother turning the lights on as you march to your bedroom. Your apartment isn't that big, you had memorized the outline of your apartment the second you placed the very first furniture there. You know by sheer habit where your couch is, or your bathroom or kitchen, you can even tell where your bookcase is. You never rearranged anything in the first place since you moved in, anyway. You sit at the edge of your bed when your phone beeps. It shows you a new email. You have no interest in opening it. You put your phone inside your drawer as you throw your body in your bed, staring at the ceiling.

You always feel safer in the darkness. You can hide without trying. You can be yourself without anybody judging you. You can be vulnerable without anyone pitying over you. You can just be you.

Physically, you are tired. Mentally, you are restless. Your brain won't stop working. It's impossible to sleep it out. You don't even know what the hell is happening inside your head.

You run some water, wishfully thinking it would wash your thought away. You chuckle at your own silliness, if only it was that easy. Not long after, you're already in your pyjamas. You lay on your back, closing your eyes, expecting sleep to kick in. You hold Santana's hoodie close. Yes, you haven't returned it to her, yet. You always reasoned you forgot when in fact, you need it to make your sleep more comfortable, more bearable. Your bed doesn't seem too big because of it. You're… a little less lonely.

Tonight it doesn't help. You're fretting, restless. You need to do something else.

You open your laptop, a dim light casting a shadow across your room. An email pops in; your payment information. You sign in on your bank account as you wait for it to proceed. You gaze at the number on your screen blankly. It's too much, you don't know what to do with this amount of money. You close the tab quickly, you don't know what you're afraid of; it's not like numbers can eat you.

You're confused. You do not have any problems sleeping lately. You simply fall asleep immediately after your body touches the mattress.

You take off your pyjamas and replace it with a shirt and jeans then you take your coat as you put your shoes on. After all's set, you make your way out. You make large steps as quick as you can in the direction of a certain shop, hoping it isn't too late.

You sigh in relief when you see the open sign.

"Santana?" You shout. You look around; she hasn't cleaned up yet. You grab the rag as you start wiping the tables. Then you lift the chairs, neatly arranging them on the table.

"San?!" You call a little louder. She has not responded to your first call, and you're already half-way to cleaning the shop. You grab a broom and start sweeping the floor, not a lot of garbage, just a bit of sand and some dusts.

You hear a door crack open. "Britt? What are you doing here?" You snap up to look at her. You smile so big it hurts your cheeks.

"Um, doing your work, what else you think?" You chuckle. "Where were you?" You ask, still sweeping.

"I was, uh, cooking. You don't have to, let me do it." She tries to take the broom from your hand but you slap her arm playfully.

"You're not allowed to work in half. Let me finish it." You tell her. "What were you cooking?"

She tilts her head as she smirks at you. "You had dinner yet?" You shake your head, you weren't hungry. "Well, will you have dinner with me?" The way she lowers her head bashfully and bit her lip and the way her cheeks tint a nice shade pink (if you look really close you could notice despite her tan skintone) make your heart warm. She's so adorable.

"You're not going to poison me, are you?" You ask with a serious tone.

"What? Of course not!" She puts her hand to her chest, gesturing hurt.

"Well then, I guess request accepted." You grin slyly at her.

After you finish your (her supposed) work, you lock the entrance and turn off the light. She tells you to wait upstairs in her room while she prepares the food. You tense, realizing this is the first time you're going in her room. Alone. No Rachel. No one. Just the two of you.

You stand awkwardly, waiting for her on her doorstep.

You hear clattering on the stairs as Santana brings a hot pot with gloves. You offer to take the pot, but she shakes her head. "It'll burn your hands," she says. She asks you to open the door of her room and you two are finally enclosed in the small room. You're sweating.

What is wrong with you?

You look around you. Santana's room is much smaller than your room, but more alive. She's got a lot of photos on the wall. There's a little Santana picture showing her wearing a chef's hat with her father and mother. She looks very much like her father. There are also photos of her in adolescence, she looks young and free. Then Santana in her early twenties, more mature, more womanly, more beautiful. You touch the picture of her smiling when you hear someone—the one and only, Santana, clear her throat. You turn your head as a flash passes your eyes. You blink at it.

"What are you doing?" You ask.

"Taking your picture, obviously." She giggles while she takes out the paper from her Polaris camera. Santana waves it as you see your image slowly emerge. It shows your cat blue eyes shine bright and warm even though you weren't smiling, your fingertips still on her smiling picture. She smiles softly at your photograph.

"You look pretty." She utters tenderly. You feel your blood rush to your face and ear. You look anywhere but her. You press your lips together tightly, preventing it from forming some stupid grin. "Thanks," you mumble.

She grimaces playfully at you as she pin the photo paper on the Styrofoam board. Your heart flutters at her action but don't make any question. "Let's go, eat," she says.

Santana arranges the pot on the carpet along with the bowls and soupspoons. You frown. What did she make?, you wonder. She opens the lid, producing a scrumptious aroma and you instantly feel your stomach grumble.

You quickly sit on the floor as Santana scoops some of _it _(you don't know what it is) on your bowl. "Be careful, it's hot," she warns when you eagerly dive in to shove a spoonful in your mouth.

It tastes awesome.

You grin goofily at her as she winks at you. You're lucky you're not standing otherwise you'd trip down to your knees at the action.

"What is it?"

"Sundubu Jigae," she says as she swallows her soup.

"What?"

"Sundubu Jigae, it's a Korean cuisine, kind of a thick soup. The dish is made with boiled fish, beef, pepper, tofu, and eggs," she explains. "It's raining outside so I thought I'd make something hot."

"This is really good! May I have some more?" You don't wait for her to reply, you take more anyway. She looks funnily at you. "You could open a restaurant," you say sincerely.

"That's the dream."

"You want to be a chef?"

"Yes." She shrugs.

"Why didn't you?" you speak before you could stop your mouth. She doesn't answer your question instead she offers you drink. You don't push her. If she trusts you, she'd tell you.

You help her with the dishes despite her protests. When everything's all cleaned up, you look at your watch, 11.43 p.m. It's late and you have to excuse yourself. You apologize for causing her to stay up late.

"Don't be silly, Britt. I'm glad you're here. I couldn't consume all this by myself. You have a big appetite," she teases you. Again, you embarrassed.

She walks you to the store's threshold. After she whispered "careful on your way," you make your way home. There are not much people out this late on a cold night. You can't stop smiling, occasionally laughing for no reason. You're just too damn happy you can't contain it inside yourself. Or maybe you're just going mad.

You're fast asleep as soon as you lay on your back with Santana's hoodie draping your body.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N #1: Thank you all for waiting patiently. I'm sorry I have not updated for so long. Hope this one will make it up to you. To clear it up, Santana knows Brittany supposed to be her date but Brittany has no idea. Hope you guys enjoy!**

**Special Thanks for TinyBlackcurrant :)**

* * *

_Wednesday, April 3; 6.43 a.m._

"5-0 vicryl, please." You are carefully suturing the sub-cutis part. You're about to finish your surgery after six hours standing fixing a guy with multiple blunt trauma. It started in the middle of the night and now it almost morning. Sometimes you think your patients are very lucky that you don't have life apart from hospital and your job. You are literally a 'permanent' on call doctor who would come right that second, no matter what, no matter what time they ask you, no matter what you were doing at that time.

"Here, you try." You give the needle holder and tissue forceps to Dr. Wilson, the on call resident tonight as he gladly accepts. You observe his work conscientiously. For a new fourth year resident, his work is actually good. His suture is overly neat; no wonder he's plastic golden boy, Dr. Meyer's continuer. In trauma, you don't need to be orderly tidy because the point is you save your patients, you act quickly but think slowly. You don't need it to be pretty, you need the function.

"Why do we use vicryl?"

"It doesn't cause tissue reaction, breaking strength and knot security are good, doctor." He answers as he skillfully ties up the thread.

You want to close the surgery by yourself but, then again, you're a teacher you have to pass your skill and knowledge to your resident. Patiently, you wait for him complete his work, it was just suturing and it isn't _that_ large, it doesn't normally take more than ten minutes to close up. You're getting bored, not to mention you're nearly half asleep, you only slept for an hour tops last night. After you got home from the shop, you go straight to bed not long after hospital called you. And now here you are.

You rewind the memories of yesterday, it doesn't need an effort to crack a wide smile beneath your mask- which you're grateful for, you don't need people asking you why you're suddenly grinning like an idiot. Is it normal though? Is it normal for you to feel _that_ free whenever you're with her or thinking about her? Is it normal if you want to be near her and talk to her all the time? Is it normal the fact that you can't sleep if you didn't see her for a day? No, it is not normal at all. You should worry, you should concerning your sanity, it's like you're losing your authority, you let your self-control vanish. You're surely going to crazy town direction. But why does it feel so natural? Being with her makes you alive- whole, even though breaking your own rule, the rule you've been living by for years. At some point you're afraid, you've only known her for a while, yet she melts your cold heart easily by her gentle touch. Well, not literally 'touch' with finger, but the way she cares; it means so much for you.

You were perfectly fine with your life, you're a tiny bit lonely (you'd only admit that much to yourself, you're still in denial state, you wouldn't confess that to the world) yes, but you're okay. You don't need or want anybody, that feeling was lost a long time ago. The hurt it created isn't worth it at all, at the end of story all words of promises that been said is all big lies. You're frowning at your own thought, you buried that damn old memory and you're not about to digging it up. You shake your head to clean your brain before it goes too curious to remember and explore more.

"We're finished, Doctor," your resident report says, snapping you out from your daydreaming. You nod your head, gathering yourself as the nurse unties your gown. The patient has taken to ICU as you make your way to his family. You inform them that the surgery went very well and they can see him as soon as you complete his post op observation. His wife is so emotional she practically jumps to hug you after you and Dr. Wilson give her the news. His kids are all crying, embracing each other, making you smile at them. You're happy every time you see scenes like this, it warms your heart, although you have to fight the pang in your chest knowing that you probably have no chance for it. You turn your heels, walking away from them; they're too wrapped up to each other to notice you leave.

"God, I miss my family already." The young doctor sighs dramatically when you check your patient IV line. You look up to him finding him look away at the window, causing you to turn around. Nobody is there. You lift your eyebrow, questioning him. "When I saw his family earlier, I just can't help it. I mean, my family is here in town and I saw them yesterday, we're just a few miles apart but, you know, this morning I didn't wake up next to my wife, I missed my baby girl crying her lungs out to get fed, I just miss them so much." You barely know this guy, yes he's been here for more than four years and yes he's merely two years under you, but you weren't here often, considering you were off to Iraq for most of the time, yet he vents his feeling on you. Realizing he might be irritating you he bows his head ashamedly as you tilt your head scrunching your brow.

"You're young," you state forwardly.

"I am. I'm twenty-seven."

"And you're married?" Your voice is calm though you're dying to know why. Why the hell is he married on such young age?

"Yes, ma'am. I'm the happiest married man alive." He laughs a bit. "Sometimes it's funny how the universe works. A lifetime is too long when you're alone but it's shorter when you have someone to spend your time with. My wife and I met on a train, we were casually dating,, but nothing special more like friend with benefits. And then she got pregnant. I refused to believe it at first; I was panicked as hell 'cause it felt like my whole career that I tried to build was destroyed so I bailed for a few months but… I don't know, something just came into me and I asked her for the second chance and I don't know what word to explain how grateful I am till this second that she did gave me that chance. Two months after our baby girl was born, I purposed and well… I never thought it'd be this way, I have a beautiful wife and the cutest daughter ever. She began to call me papa, amazing, right? Well, it's more like pfaah-pfaa or something, but she's getting there! Often I wonder how could I get so lucky? It's like… I don't think I deserve them, you know?" He finishes his rambles by asking your opinion. You have no idea whether to feel annoyed or flattered he's telling you his entire life. "I'm sorry I got sentimental on you." He chuckles nervously. You just offer him a small smile and nod a little as response and continue writing in your patient chart.

You didn't mean to be rude, you're just not a sappy hopelessly romantic kind of person. Also, deep down, you're jealous of him.

After you finished your post-ops you sit on the on call bed, leaning to the wall, stretching your leg facing the door. You want to sleep badly but the trauma unit round will start in an hour or so. You really don't want your sleep to be disturbed so you decide to wait there, do your job, then sleep peacefully. For now, resting your body is better than nothing.

You rub your eyes then bury your face in your palm. Wilson's small speech is echoing in your mind. It overwhelmed you and it is screwing your head, driving you crazier than you already are. Secretly you wish you're with Santana right now just so you can be at ease- at least forget the uncomfortable sting in your gut with her presence. You can't meet her right now, so that leaves no other choice than unlock the phone and open some application to prevent your boredom. As soon as you realize you have nothing other than Angry Birds and you already won all the levels, you go to music application, scrolling down until you get the song that you want then put the speaker near your ear. You're humming through the song, you never really sing, you don't think your voice is good enough and you're too proud to embarrass yourself. The music gently fondles your ear as you close your heavy eyes, _just for a moment_, you think.

-000-

You run with your blurry eyes, trembling legs and spinning head towards the elevator. Unfortunately, it closes right on your nose. You're not in your fit state to take stairs and jump off fifty staircases to approach the OR so instead you push the button roughly. Not that you care the obviousness of it isn't going to ride up any faster.

As you step in the OR, it's quiet.

A lot of people are there, but it's quiet.

"Am I missing something?" you whisper to Nurse Jones. She just shakes her head. "Where are the victims?" you ask her.

"They aren't here yet. We're waiting. And you might want to wipe the drool off your face before they arrive." You brush away the drool with your backhand ashamedly. Okay, so you missed the round because you fell asleep and you woke up with four-voice mails from ER.

"Alright people, listen up! As we all know an American Airline had crashed and the patients will be admitted to our hospital. I don't know how many will come but we'll give them the best service we can provide. I've called another hospital see if they can help so if we're out of hands here, we'll move them out. All scheduled surgeries have been cancelled consider a lot of victims will need immediate treatment. We are the best trauma center in the country I expect your best work. The first ambulances will arrive in five, make yourselves useful! Trauma, you're on the frontline!" Dr. Storkholmes shouts, giving you all instructions as you quickly put your gown and gloves on and walk to the front ER door with your other colleagues. Sirens sound in the distance as you bounce on your running shoes, and exhale a big breath, preparing yourself.

"Hamed Oemar, 48, crushed right arm. HR: 138x/min, RR: 33x/min, BP: 90/50. No sound on left chest."

"Leonard, he's yours!"

Dr. Storkholmes is pretty much yelling here and there. Seven ambulances have arrived and he hasn't given you one patient. You're waiting for the next victim, whose advent is too long from the previous. Your boss is busy calling someone on his phone as he nod and shaking his head and you just stand there with Dr. Chang.

"Dr. Pierce, this is the last one, others didn't make it."

"What do you mean others didn't make it?"

"All dead, we only had eight survivors," he sighs tiredly. "Most of their families are here, I have to go to organize them." Then he walks inside, caressing the back of his neck.

"Amanda Hart, 15. Penetrating injury in abdomen, head blunt injury, and blunt spine injury. She's unconscious, HR: 148x/min, BP: 70/50, RR: 42x/min."

You check her pupils, finding it is anisocoria, probably Oculomotor nerve palsy or there's a mass lesion in her brain. If it wasn't a miracle you don't know what could have kept her alive long enough with this severe injury. "Page peds and neuro, we're going to ER right now."

This is going to be a long day.

XXX

_Thursday, April 4; 2.51 a.m._

You move your aching feet on deserted sidewalk in chilly late night alone. You produce smoke every time you exhale breath, your nose is dry - perhaps all your goblet cells are frosting too. You fold your arms around you tightly, your leather jacket is not helping much right now and your legs muscle strained painfully; it's getting hard to drag them any further. You left your car in hospital parking lot and chose to drag out time because you don't want to be at your apartment just yet and you need to find your clarity of mind.

You wish you could be with certain a Latina girl who is constantly running round in circles in your brain lately. It's so amusing how things are going on in your soul whenever you're with her, she's fairly a stranger to you, you've known her for two weeks yet it feels like it's been forever.

You stop at the locked entrance of particular coffee shop you visit everyday. You sigh disappointedly. Who are you kidding? It's 3 a.m. in the morning. You start to walk again when you notice a glimpse of light from the slightly open windows upstairs. A glimmer of hope appears in your chest as you tilt your head, wondering if Santana is still up. You try your luck as you cough a little, "San?" Okay, that was more like whispering, she wouldn't hear you.

"Santana!" you shout, still not too loud but enough for quiet night. There is no sign of her and your shoulders drop dejectedly. Maybe she forgot to close the window or she sleeps with lights on. You rub the back of your hand, turning around to make your way home then you hear someone call you.

"Britt!" Instantly your lips form a extensive smile when you see Santana open her window widely as you waving at her. "Wait, I'll open the door!"

Waves of relief rush rinse your body when she comes out from the glass door, covered up by a long coat and invites you inside. The shop space is still cold but you feel safe, you feel comfortable in this place, maybe because Santana is here. No not maybe, definitely because she's in here.

"Oh my god, you're freezing! You know what? Go to my room, I'll make you something to drink uh… hot chocolate? Tea or something? No caffeine though," she warns you jokingly.

"Hot chocolate sounds good. Thank you," you say shyly. "Is it okay if I stay here with you?

"You sure?"

"Yeah," you came here because you wanted to see her; hot chocolate is just a bonus. You don't want to waste time not being with her.

"Okay, it won't take long."

This is why you like her –platonic way of course. She's just… she takes care of you and no one ever treats you this way. It makes you feel good to know that you have someone other than Quinn and Puck to lean on to. Believe it or not, deny it as much as you want, but at the end of the day, she's the best part of your day. She makes your bad day better. Silently you curse yourself because you didn't find her sooner.

"This chicken noodle soup is really good. Are you taking cooking classes or something?" you ask, sitting on the kitchen counter as you slurp another spoon of hot thick liquid along with the noodles. The soup is her leftovers and, being the nice person she is, she heated it up for you. You're hungry as hell, you don't mind that it burns your tongue.

"Yes, in high school," she answers you while pouring mineral water into a glass and putting it in front of you.

"Thanks. No, I mean professionally."

"Nope, I just like to experiment with food, you know, mix it all together and stuff." She gives the last touch of your hot chocolate by sprinkle it with cocoa powder. "Here you go, careful."

"And they're amazingly edible. Sweet. Thank you."

"Well, cooking is my life. I have heart in it so it wasn't hard or anything."

"That must be the reason why your food is always tasty, it has a heart in it," you smirk playfully.

"You've only tasted my cooking twice," she rolls her eyes. Technically, yes, it is the second time she's cooked for you but still you can't imagine her cooking would taste other than delicious. "Are you done yet? Let's go upstairs."

You drink your water greedily as you grasp your cup of hot chocolate carefully and make your way to Santana's room.

"What are you doing walking around in the middle of the night?" She giggles as she takes her coat off, uncovering her long goddess legs and she sits beside you on her couch. She takes a sip of her hot chocolate from her cup, crinkling her nose the scalding liquid.

"What are you doing wide awake in the middle of the night?" you chuckle. You keep your eyes to the wall, avoiding looking at her way just in case you can't help inappropriately perving on her boobs that are exposed from her loose shirt that also barely cover her ass, making your lower body heat up.

"I asked first," you can hear a pout and it so damn cute you have no words for it.

"I was walking from the hospital," you reply shortly then blowing your cup to cool the drink down. "What are you doing?"

"I was reading when you shouted. I can't sleep."

"Why not?"

"I don't know. Probably because I haven't seen you today," she teases you, she's brilliant at it, successfully making you blush brightly, and your pale skin makes it hard to hide the shade of pink on your cheeks. "So you want to talk about it?"

"About what?" you keep your voice cool.

"You look tired," she says softly but the way you know by the way she says it that the tired she means isn't literally tired, it means she knows something is bothering you.

"You see me," you clear your throat, nodding your head towards your picture attached on the board. It's not that you don't want to tell her what happen, you simply don't really know where to begin.

"Well, it's not the same, silly. I couldn't talk to it or else people would think I'm crazy!" she laughs slapping your arms playfully. You grin goofily and shrug your shoulder nonchalantly. As her laugh recedes, you turn your head to meet a warm brown gaze that radiates through your blues. You look deep into her eyes, finding it hard to make excuse not to spill your thoughts immediately. She doesn't say anything, she keeps silent and waits patiently until the dud Broca part in your brain can create some words.

"Have you ever said something important… something pivotal… to someone that you don't even know was true or not?" finally after one hundred and twelve seconds of quiet you say your enigmatic sentence.

"Not really," she replies unsurely. Of course she doesn't know where you're going with it.

"You heard about the plane crash, right?"

"It's all over the news," she nods. "They admitted the victims to your hospital."

"Yeah, and I did the surgery for one of the victims. There were nine of them who survived from the scene, one didn't make it to hospital, two of them died on the OR table," you bow your head as you enter the hardest part. "I was operated on a teenage girl, she's fifteen and um… she was bleeding a lot. Her abdomen was tore by a metal, she had large aneurysm in her brain and spine injury but somehow she's alive. Then I went to talk to her mom who lost her husband on the same accident. She was… she was, damn, you know, she lost two loved at once and then I was a coward, telling her that her daughter was okay, that she fought through her surgery for her mom, she'll be back in no time and some other bull," you snort at the last part.

"You said she's alive?" Santana asks cautiously.

"She might be dead tomorrow, or today, for that matter, I'd say there's an eighty-eight percent chance for it and, even if she'll live, she'll be paralyzed." You look away from her. "I shouldn't have said it, I shouldn't gave her false hope, I should've told her the truth!" you stand up abruptly, anxiously pacing back and forth.

"What truth?" She asks innocently.

"That her daughter wasn't okay, she's dying!" you cry despondently. "I'm a doctor, I've said lots of bad news before, I don't know why this time had to be different! I have responsibility on every step I take and this isn't responsible at all!"

"Britt?" she calls you softly, "Brittany, stop," she says firmly after you ignore her. "Come here, sit with me." you assume she'll give you a judgmental look by your rude act instead of genuine smile. You groan frustratingly as she pats the cushion beside her. You huff but do what she wants.

"You didn't do anything wrong. No, you're going to listen to me then go ahead say whatever you want to say but I'm not sitting here to listen you condemn yourself before you hear what I say," she raises her hand when you tried to open your mouth commenting her. "You are not a coward, you care about your patients and her daughter is alive, we don't know what tomorrow will bring but, for now, she's okay, you saved her. Don't underestimate the power of twelfth present, it might rise up."

"But what if she dies?"

"Then let her go. You can't decide whether she lives or not, Britt. That is not your job. Let's just hope she'll be fine. Okay?"

"You know the hardest part being a doctor is? Not long life learning, no," you shake your head sadly. "It's when you have to tell their family that the person they loved didn't make it. I always feel like it was my mistake. They counted on me and I blew it. Sometimes I can't sleep for days because of it," your voice sounds so sad and small. People would never know this side of you. You always show confidence in front of your colleagues, you clearly accentuate your intelligence to them but now you're being vulnerable and honest with what you feel deep inside. Saying your debility out loud is so odd, out of your character and it has never happened before.

"Maybe I'm not good enough."

"You tried, you've done your best. You don't waste ten years of med school for nothing. Don't blame yourself. There's a start and end, we come and go, live and die, it's the provision. You're human. Humans make mistakes. You're flawed, we all are. At some point you have to forgive yourself and accept the fact that you're not perfect and that isn't the same as not good enough." She speaks tenderly. "You're a good person and I'm absolutely certain that you're a great doctor, don't ever doubt that."

You smile sheepishly, fighting the urge to hug her.

"How can you always know the right thing to say?"

"It's not right, it's the truth." she shrugs easily. If you weren't mesmerized by her personality before, you definitely are now.

Your phone goes off in your pocket as you see the caller ID showing ICU on display. You pick it up and you can't help the constriction of your chest as you hear information from the nurse as you nod weakly.

"I'll be there," you disconnect the call, checking the time. It's 5.13 a.m. Time flies by too fast if you spend it with Santana.

"Britt?"

You look hesitantly at her as you shake your head, "I have to go, thanks for listening, San. Go to sleep, you have work tomorrow." You get up from the couch when she reaches for your hand as electricity spreads through your body at her velvet-soft touches, causing you to tense right away. Your heart is beating like crazy; it might jump out from your chest. She holds your hand firmer, caressing it tenderly, and the action calms you down.

"It'll be alright," she says, reassuring you.

You believe her. You will always believe her.

* * *

**A/N #2 : I know there isn't much of Brittana moment this chapter but more will come the next chapter so stick with me! Leave me reviews if you'd like, thank you for reading :)**


	4. Chapter 4

_Thursday, April 4; _

You pull over your car at the side road then turn the machine off. You grab the mirror and turn it towards you as it shows your reflection. You tilt your face to the side. You cannot not notice a small cut at the corner of your lips even though you've dissembled it with makeup. You bring your finger touching the small bruise that surrounds the cut. It still hurt a bit. You glance at the Berry Coffee Shop, contemplating whether you should go inside or not. Well, you should not because of certain reason; Santana would worry but you need to see her. Lately you second-guess yourself more than usual and she never fails to make you feel better, to assure you that you're right on your feet.

You need her comfort to make sure everything is going to be okay.

You exhale deeply to ease your solicitous state of mind and get out of the car. You lock it manually since your car is old and already fit material for a landfill. You take small steps, still debating if it is good to come looking like you do. From outside you can see Santana cheerfully serving her customer and Joe – another employee of the shop – hastily makes the order.

The bell clinking at the time you flew open the door. Instantly Santana's eyes land on you, her genuine fresh smile inevitably lightens your gloomy mood right away. You point at one of the table next to the window, indicating her that you'll just sit there, you're not hungry or thirsty; you have zero desire to digest anything. You support your chin with your fist as your other hand taps the wooden table while waiting for Santana to join you.

You look outwards like creepy stalker, watching two lovebirds kissing in public without care about the world that revolves around them. Don't they realize public display of affection is irritating? Not to mention inappropriate, kids have eyes, they'll think it's disgusting. You too, think the same thing.

"What are you looking at?" Santana suddenly appears in front of you. She wears the shop uniform with her shiny raven hair straggling over her shoulder, her bangs neatly organized by a pretty headband, some droplets of sweat slip off her forehead and you feel it's so wrong to think that the person who sit across you is incredibly sexy.

"Nothing," you clear your throat, bowing your head down, alarmed that Santana could see your tiny wound. "Is it okay if you accompany me for a while?" you ask lift up your eyes without lifting your head up.

"Yes, of course. Joe can cover me; Rachel is here too, you want something?" You decline her offer politely. "What's wrong, Britt?" she asks when you still avoid eye contact with her. Warily you elevate your head softly sucking your bottom lip to disguise that thing that you don't want to be seen.

"Nothing," you cover your mouth with your palm and cough a bit to smooth your act.

"Can you say something- anything but nothing?" She snuffles cutely, folding her arms over her chest. You can't resist your chuckle, as soon as the laughter comes out from your mouth you regret it, as the wound stings sharply.

"Ouch, damn it!" Unconsciously you touch the injured part, caressing it, hoping the pain reduces. It wasn't _that_ hurt, you can endure it; the pain just took you by surprise.

"Britt? What is it?" The Latina speaks concernedly, extending her hand, obviates your arms and examines your face closely. "Who did this to you?" You've never seen 'angry Santana' before and you don't ever want to because her voice is dangerously low and right now her anger is indeed terrifying.

"It's nothing, San," you look away from her. "Just forget it," you implore.

"Brittany," she isn't forcing you to say it she merely wishes for you to elaborate, she asks you to trust her.

"San, I'm fine, really." Concern doesn't fade away from her pretty face. Instead of letting it go she reaches for your hand and holds it tenderly. Again, the electricity pervades, tingling, burning the particular part. Her palm is also warm. It heats up your body. "Talk to me, please." She says softly.

You sigh and shake your head tiredly. You don't mind if you're physically in pain, what upset you is the emotional pressure you endure, more over you have to shove it down to your throat and it feels like you swallow up big knot make it extremely hard to breath.

"I got what I deserved, I guess?" you croak hesitantly. "It's not a big deal, San. I'm fine." You repeat fine repeatedly vaguely whether you really are fine or you need to assure yourself that you're okay.

"You don't deserve any of this, Britt. What happened?" she speaks sadly.

"She passed away, my patient. Her mother lost it, she slapped me and well you see it yourself," you shrug. "It wasn't her fault, she was devastated and it's fair."

"How hard did she slap you? It made a cut."

"Her ring I suspect."

"It is not okay, Britt," she strokes the back of your hand, "you've-"

"I've done my best, I know. Don't worry too much, San. I'm better now. It's nothing compared to what she's going through. I don't want to talk about it anymore. It happened; I couldn't change anything even though I desperately want to." You explain wordy despite that the sting is still there.

"You have a kind heart, do you know that?"

"Well, now that you mention it," you giggle slowly making her cackle too. Up until now you're constantly thinking about how you can easily joke around with her without questioning your mental health. All about her is happiness, simple and pure. She banishes every bad thing that gets to you. It's like you're sheltered under her shield of protection and it bids you security that you're afraid to take.

"Santana, I really am sorry for disturbing your play date with Brittany but I need your hand right this second. Joe and I can't serve them alone and I'm afraid my fragile vocal cords will rupture from all welcoming scream," Rachel's gone as fast as her rambling. You roll your eyes at her. Santana smiles apologetically as she gives you one gentle squeeze before she removes her hand from you. You keep down the urge to stretch your arm out just to hold her hand a little longer.

"Do you have something to do tonight?" You speak fast you have no time to stop your mouth.

"No, why?" she stands up immediately when Rachel comes again only to glare at her; fortunately it was solely a few seconds.

"Um, I was thinking if maybe you want to go out tonight? Don't get me wrong, your cooking is amazing and I loved it but you know, it'd be nice if we hung out out of this place," you mumble shyly. You see the sparkle in her eyes shining brightly at your words.

"Santana!" Rachel hisses loudly.

"Just a minute!" she hisses back. "Pick me at seven?" she asks excitedly.

"I'll be here."

Even Rachel annoys the hell out of you; it doesn't lessen the delighted feeling in your chest.

XXX

You peek at your digital clock at the wall with heavy eyes, you barely have energy to open them even an inch. Your blurred vision along with darkness make it hard to see what time it shows. You rub your eyelids in order to rectify your sight, the red light of number shape shaded but you can quite say it's 6.53 p.m., you wipe out the drool as the pain of your neck and back start to emerge. God knows how many times you need to encounter this ache till you wise up that fall asleep on the couch is remarkably bad idea. You croon by the soreness and stretch your arms as you suppress your yawn making your eyes produce more tears.

You really need this kind of rest, you forget when was the last time you sleep without disturbance, this time you grateful Dr. Storkholmes sent you home early because of your mishap earlier. Even though you have to ran at least eight rounds, done push-ups and sit ups nearly hundred and fifty times inside your apartment to make your body exhausted therefore it has no option other than sleep. The loss of your patient still haunts you. She died because of her body failed her, she lost the battle, it had come to the phase of decompensating, there is no human error in her case, none you can do to bring her back.

But still.

You reiterate Santana's words that it wasn't your fault, you have to let her go but you can't help it. Every time you closed your eyes the image of her mother's resentment come to your sight, it makes you sick of yourself since you're the one who plighted her daughter was going to be okay.

You stand up wearily as you to turn the light on; it blinds you for a moment. As your pupils adapt to the bright room you walk to kitchen, open the fridge, grab a cartoon of guava juice and drink straight from it. Technically, you don't have a kitchen, it's a large room where the living room concatenate with it but whatever.

It's getting dark outside, you haven't closed the curtain, the looks of city light actually prepossess you. You walk slowly towards the casement and attach your nose to the glass. You narrow your eyes as you catch a glimpse of letter lamp reads Berry Coffee Shop. You never know it before, that place is closer than you predict.

Well, you disregard things like this.

You wonder what Santana's doing right now. You _regularly_ wonder what she's up to, you even stop questioning yourself about it because there is no answer, it just seems like a new hobby to you. At this moment, maybe she's making super delicious dinner or maybe she's chilling in her room reading a book or watch TV or she still deal with her customer, or-.

Then suddenly something knocks your brain hard. Your eyes widen as you turn around look at the clock; 7.12 p.m.

_Or she's waiting for you to pick her up. _

You run to the bathroom, stripping down your pajamas in the way. You start the shower at the same time, soaping your body, it doesn't last for three minutes then you dry up with your towel as you brush your teeth sloppily. You disassemble your disorganized closet and wear whatever shirt you find not crumpled. You flee to the front door still struggling to slip on your pants when you accomplish it; you put on your nearer sneakers and snatch your leather jacket. You tie up your hair into messy ponytail and march your way out to parking lot. You drive as fast as you're allowed and slam the door harder than you intend when you arrive.

"Hey! Wh-"

"Where is she?" you're out of breath and you have no time to be friendly and chitchat with the tarantula head.

"She's upstairs. No! No! No! You can't go up," you give him disapproving look at his grip on your shoulder; he let you go straight away. "She's getting ready, she asked me to wait here for you. She said don't let you come to her room. So sit here and wait." He explains quickly. You huff measurably and take a sit as catch your breath.

"I'm Joe, by the way. I know you're Brittany 'cause you're here often and I'm sure Santana told you about me, but we never formally introduced so…" he holds out his hand, you briefly nod your head. You don't bother mention your name, he's already knows anyway.

"We're closed early, Rachel gave us permission," he unnecessarily dishes out useless information, who cares anyway. "You're late, and are you really wearing that?" he inspects you up and down; you hope he isn't Rachel's male version but he's so annoying and fussy and boorish just like her.

"You have a problem with that?" You snap.

"Well, I thought you're going on a-" your ears fail to hear whatever he's saying when the most beautiful woman you've ever seen descends the stairs elegantly, calls your name.

Santana wears an enchanting knee length dress featuring an alluring lace print with a sweetheart neckline and tuck pleats that accentuate her boobs. She twirls a little, giving you the back of the dress, which is just as captivating as the front, boasting an enthralling circular cut- out complemented by a darling bow.

How perfect.

You're afraid you aren't awake yet because this can't be reality, it's so freaking impossible that earth has an angel like her, there is no way. You have no recall of accident that might have given you coma or something, you sure you aren't dead yet but all of this feels so surreal. Your is heart jumping incredibly fast, all air pretty much sucked out from your lungs.

"Wow," you breathe out heavily, silently admiring her.

"Joe, you might go now, thank you. I owe you one," Santana tells the boy. _Yeah, go now and fast,_ you think.

You don't even give a glance when Joe walks out the shop or when the bell tolls or at the noisy horn from the road outside. You can't take your blues away from Santana. She captives you completely; it feels like only the both of you that exist in the world. You hope you're not drooling over her.

"I'm sorry, I must have misunderstood," Santana speaks first when you two are alone.

"Huh?" is all you can come out with. She isn't look at your face, she observes your outfit but you're still in claustrophobic state to conceive the aim.

"I just… just wait here for a sec, okay? I'll go change," she's half running when you quickly catch her arms, effectively stopping her.

"Wait! San… don't, you look…" _beautiful, gorgeous, magnificent, angelic, classy, splendid, pulchritudinous, breathtakingly stunning, _"… good." Of all praise words that pop up in your brain, you choose 'good'. How terrific of you.

She smiles slightly at your epic fail compliment, obviously good is not what she wants to hear. It's been like what? Four-five years ago, the last time you said to someone that she's beautiful, peculiarly because you really liked her. That word taste rather bitter on your tongue.

"Shall we go now?" you avert the possibility she refuses to go using the dress she had worn. Thankfully she doesn't repudiate you. After she locks the entrance, you lead her to your rubbish machine and open the door for her. One reason because you repentant your foolishness, the other reason is you attempting to treat her like you are a real gentlewoman.

Actually, you have no idea where you're going to take her. Your brain is mainly still in shock, good and bad kind of shock. Good due to Santana's appearance, bad because you forgot you had an important promise with Santana. The road is dreadfully silent, you're beyond nervous to say a word, precisely like the first time you met her, the difference is that now you know what to say, just way too reticent to pronounce it.

She doesn't say anything as well, for a reason that you suspect isn't the same as you.

And it's getting awkward.

"I'm sorry I was late," you break the silence by apologizing, just in case she's mad because of it.

"No problem. What were you doing?" she responses immediately.

"I overslept, haven't sleep in a long-looong time," young singsong, joking lamely because you despairingly want to get her to talk more.

"We don't have to go, you know. I get that you're busy and yesterday was tough for you. You deserve a break, Britt. I wouldn't mind."

"No, San, I'm really looking forward to tonight," you clarify. "I'm really sorry I blew it," you mumble. Sometimes you wonder why you're such an expert at ruining things. It is your second specialist, aside from exploring and repairing humans' bodies.

As if there aren't enough unnecessary embarrassing things you've done tonight, your phone is buzzing; duty call. You smile uneasily as you excuse yourself to pick it up.

"Can't we do it tomorrow? I'm kind of in the middle of something right now. Yes, I'll see him the first thing in the morning. Thank you."

Ten seconds haven't elapsed from the first call.

"What?!" That was harsher than you intended. "What? Well I have things to do too, I'll discharge him tomorrow. Tell him he needs rest tonight… really? God! Fine, I'll be there!" You end the call.

"San…" you drawl.

"It's okay, Britt. We can go to hospital first. I don't mind waiting for a while," she smiles daintily. That smile is oh-so out of this world.

When you arrive at hospital, you scamper hastily towards trauma department. You left the Latina in the lobby. You take emergency stairs to the third floor since the elevator is still on the seventh floor and you don't to want to wait even for a second. You told Santana you wouldn't be long, as discharging a patient normally only takes minutes. You promised your patient you'd let him free today but you're off way before the time you usually are and it totally didn't cross your mind before the call. He's itching to breathe fresh air far from hospital and he's been compelling the nurse, so you have no choice than sign him off.

You do the last check up on him, you explain what things he can and cannot do because his gastrocnemius muscle is still in healing process - heavy work, including walking too long, is definitely out of question. You also remind him for the physical therapy, outpatients habitually 'forget' their schedule, and they often underestimate the purpose of medical rehabilitation. Although he already registered and when the time comes, closer hospital will, it is important to inform him as his personal doctor.

"Due me a favor, would you? Don't ever show up to emergency room ever again," you joke, earning laughter from him and his entire family. You walk out from his room as you write down his status on his chart. You sign the last paper, inscribe his prescription and tell the nurse to give it to him if he's all set.

You're about to turn around when a blonde, tall doctor approach the nurse station asking a certain patient's chart and shortly turns his heels away.

"Dr. Wilson, wait!" you shout as you come near to him.

"Yes, Dr. Pierce?"

"I have something to ask; um… do you know a good restaurant? Near far, wherever it is - is okay with me."

"What kind of food do you want?"

"Anything."

"Well, there's a place, Italian. I went there once their food is really nice. I'll give you the address." He takes out a small piece of paper and a pen to write and gives it to you. Swiftly you march your way back to Santana.

XXX

"Britt, where are we going?" The Latina queries, astonished.

"You'll see. I think you'll like it, well, I hope you like it. We'll be there soon," you grin at her. You steal time to search the place Dr. Wilson recommended when you're in the elevator and it's indeed fancy. It's perfect for Santana.

By the time you park your car, you're ready to go out and move to Santana's side to open her door, but before you get the chance to grip the handle, she stops you. You raise your eyebrows silently, questioning her act.

"We're going to eat here?" she asks.

"Yeah, why?"

"I can't, Britt." She mumbles.

"Why not?" you wince, confused.

"I just can't. Can we go somewhere else?" she pleads.

"Okay, care to share why you don't like it?" your light tone doesn't conceal the curiousness.

"I can't afford it, okay? Can't we just go?" You somewhat can catch her rough tone but you shrug it off.

"Well, I asked you out. I'll pay." You argue insensitively.

"Brittany, you can't pay for me. This isn't a date."

Date.

Date.

Date.

_This isn't a date._

She wears enchanting dress with heels and accessories, she puts on make-up, she said she _misunderstood_. She thinks tonight is a date whilst what you mean is grab a meal together at night. _Oh, God_. Other times you have to be clearer in expressing your intention, and not let this happen ever again.

She looks away first. She huffs, annoyed at you, and you have no idea how to fix the situation. You just sit there, dumbfounded.

This is the most awkward moment you've ever experienced.

"But friends buy each other food," you insist in a low voice still keep off the issue.

"Not this expensive, this is too much."

"Alright then, where do you want to go?" You clear your throat; surrender before you piss her off even more.

"Diner will do. I don't mind if we eat hotdogs or not eat at all," she shrugs nonchalantly.

You take your car to the road again uneasily because of the sharp tension that thickens quickly by her silence. Tonight turned out unexpectedly bad, this isn't supposed to happen and this is your fault. You put your hand above the shift knob, slumping in your seat, not daring to say a word, it could makes everything worse than it already is. You don't know how long you can bear this painful silence.

Your hand is getting cold because of your nervousness. You don't have any courage to look at her direction, too afraid to face the fact that you let her down and you're opposed of the idea to initiative talk first because you can easily add up your screw up list.

"I'm sorry I was harsh on you. I didn't mean that," she says slowly. It feels like finally you can breathe again.

"It's not your fault, San. It was all mine from the beginning. I'm really sorry, I was hoping tonight we'd have fun instead of this disaster," you confess bashfully. You grasp this golden opportunity to beg her for her forgiveness.

"Let's just forget it, okay?" she puts her hand on yours, intertwining your finger with hers, making goose bumps erupt all over your body.

"Okay," you mutter shyly. You're grateful she is one of rare human with pure forgiving soul. Why is she perfect in all way? Why are you such a messy person?

"So, are we good now?"

"Give me your pinky," you frown but do what she wants. Why does a pinky has anything to do with this truce?

"You know what unbreakable oath is? Pinky link, now that we have done it, it means we are always good for now to eternity because we make a vow on it." She laughs infectiously. If anyone else ever does this thing with you, you probably will bluntly out burst your anger to them because it's stupid. But then again, it's Santana who initiate this silliness, you have no other thought than adorable.

"Wait… wait, I know this song," she suddenly turns up the radio volume and hums the first line, catching up for the next verse.

"I've been lonely for so long, trapped in the past, I just can't seem to move on," you instantly beam at her melodic voice. "Come on, sing with me, Britt!" she jiggles your arms as you shake your head chuckling.

"I can't sing. I'll only ruin the song," you smile sheepishly.

"Boo! Ehem," she mocks you as she clears her throat and begins to sing again. "I've been searching but I just don't see the signs. I know that it's out there, there's gotta be something for my soul somewhere," she lifts up your intertwined hand and put it above her thigh as she covers it with her other hand. Please don't mention your head, it spinning upside down by the action, your air conditioner is barely function but you are sure the temperature rise up not by that certain reason.

"I've been looking for someone to shed some light, not somebody just to get me through the night, I could use some direction and I'm open to your suggestions," You're unconsciously tapping your finger on the steering wheel, you steer your vehicle at constant lower speed at the edge of the road.

"All I want to do is find a way back into love. I can't make it through without a way back into love. And if I open my heart again, I guess I'm hoping you'll be there for me in the end," the song starts to fade. She ends it in a very smooth tone.

Is there anything she can't do perfectly?

You smile warmly at her. She charms you in every possible way, with various amiable acts, she's so full of surprise, she never fails to fascinate you. You're too caught up in your thought, you don't look the road ahead you but you notice Santana's gasping.

"Brittany!" She shouts.

Damn.


End file.
